


Scenario 10

by rideswraptors



Series: Kastle Scenarios [10]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, see first part for warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 21:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16227548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rideswraptors/pseuds/rideswraptors
Summary: Matt’s the Daredevil. Frank is Pete. And Karen needs a drink. #GiveKarenABreak





	Scenario 10

A week after the incident in the elevator, Karen came home after midnight from work to find Frank Castle, in full Punisher gear, spreading out his weapons on her floor. She’d flipped on the light, made eye contact with him, sighed, and turned the light right back off before shutting the door behind her and locking it. 

 

“It’s late. I’m hungry. I don’t want to know. Just clean up after yourself.” 

 

She stepped over him and his things without so much as a backward glance, and headed straight for the shower. He didn’t bother trying to stop her, didn’t bother trying to explain himself, just let her go, and she was immensely grateful for that. 

 

By the time she was out of the shower and in comfortable clothing, he had cleaned up his mess and was standing at her stove. Cooking, of all things.

 

“I could have ordered take out.”

 

His only response was a grunt. 

 

With a hard eye roll, she went and poured herself a glass of whiskey. Frank didn’t drink, as far as she knew, and she’d only ever seen him drink coffee. Or water. She drank her whiskey and poured herself another one; felt his eyes on her while she did. Of course, that’s not what he commented on.

 

“Shouldn’t walk home so late.” 

 

“Needed to clear my head.”

 

“It’s dangerous.” 

 

“And my office couch is safe?” she scoffed.

 

“Safer.” 

 

They stood in companionable silence for a while. He was make sauce, evidently, and boiling pasta. She didn’t even know she had either of things in her cupboards. Begged a lot of questions that she didn’t feel like asking. There was one thing though. 

 

“Gonna tell me where you went?”

 

“No.”

 

“Gonna tell me what happened?”

 

“No.”

 

“Any reason why not?”

 

“No.” 

 

“Excellent, glad we’re getting somewhere,” she snapped, slamming her glass down. He didn’t even react to it, which annoyed her more. When she calmed herself a little and finally took a good look at him, she noticed he was favoring his left side. Bruised ribs, probably. His head had been patched up and bore neat-looking stitches that had been well cleaned. Hands were wrapped. Stitches on his forearms, too. She couldn’t even imagine what the rest of him looked like. Probably gashes and mottled bruises, if hers were anything to go by. She wondered how his arm was.

 

“Matt’s the Daredevil,” she breathed out, more of a confession than information. Frank stopped stirring momentarily, then moved to shut off the stove.

 

“I know.”

 

“You  _ know _ ?” 

 

“Yeah. I know.” 

 

“So he just...told you?” she demanded, voice a little too shrill. 

 

“Not in so many words.”

 

With that, she swiped her glass off the counter to have it shatter on the floor. 

 

“Goddamn it, Frank!”

 

He turned to her, eyes calm and cool, and maybe a little amused at her outburst. That was definitely pissing her off. Idly, she thought that was probably exactly what she wanted because the alternative sucked. The alternative was that someone she truly cared about lied to her face every single day and let her believe the worst of him to protect a secret she would have happily helped him keep. Frank, for all his gray morals, for all his murderous tendencies, for all his rage and feral ways, had never lied to her. Overstepped his bounds, sure. Pissed her off quite frequently. Was  _ such _ an asshole. But he’d never lied. 

 

Then he shocked the hell out of her by taking deliberately slow steps, as if approaching a wild animal, and pulling her into a hug. Karen froze for a fast moment, unsure what direction this was going, and then let him hold her. She put her arms around his neck, buried her face in his shoulder, and did her fucking best not to cry. 

 

“I hate him,” she whispered into his shirt, not at all certain he heard her. He did.

 

“No y’don’t.” 

 

Karen huffed, trying to self-soothe.

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

“M’fine. Bit sore, but fine.” 

 

“You going out?”

 

“Just got in.” 

 

“How many?”

 

“Just two.” 

 

She snorted at that.  _ Just two _ , he said. Just two people he’d killed in cold blood. Not innocents, but still people. Karen hated herself a little for not feeling sick to her stomach anymore. 

 

“There’s something else,” he told her slowly, voice softer than before. Dread filled her gut, but she pulled back to look up at him anyway. Someone was trying to kill her again. Someone was trying to kill him. Homeland was finally taking him away. The cops knew where he was. She mentally ran through the list of worst-case scenarios just to prepare for whatever gutting news he was about to unleash on her. He made it worse when he lifted a hand to her cheek, thumb brushing over the curve of her bone before tucking hair behind her ear. 

 

“Frank Castle,” he told her, “is dead.” She startled. “Name’s Pete Castiglione now.” 

 

Karen frowned.

 

“That’s Italian for castle.” 

 

For the first time, she heard him laugh for real. Not his hollow, mocking laugh. Not his snide chuckling. Not his gentle scoffs. A real, outright laugh. Because of her and her inability to respond to situations appropriately. 

 

“Only you would know that, Karen. Only you.” He shrugged. “Homeland’s not that creative.” 

 

“Homeland?” she asked, a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips. Her grip tightened on his jacket. “Does that mean?”

 

He smirked, “Free and clear. Frank Castle and his crimes have been permanently wiped away. I’m just Pete the construction worker.”

 

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not calling you that.”

 

“Please don’t.” 

 

Karen inhaled slowly, mind whirring faster than the rest of her could keep up with. Of all the scenarios she’d imagined over the last week, Frank getting the all clear once and for all was not even close to the top of the list. She’d assumed she’d get a call from an unregistered number informing her that he was dead. Or that she would never know. Definitely didn’t expect him to show up at her apartment. Definitely didn’t expect the best possible news. 

 

“So what does that mean...Punisher-wise?” 

 

His shrug was sharp. “Dunno. Have to lay low for awhile and follow their stupid rules, but I don’t think…” He turned his head away, she felt his grip loosen, so she ducked to steal back his gaze. He looked a little mournful in response to that. “I don’t think I can stop, Karen. I don’t think I can just...walk away from it. Not now, not after everything…”

 

“I understand.”

 

His eyes flashed at her dark and intense. “Do you?” 

 

She chewed at her lip. “A little.” Her mind flashed back to James Wesley’s dead body on the floor, her hand shaking while she stood over him, gun in hand. “More than you’d think.” 

 

He nodded and reached up to take one of her hands. He laced their fingers together and kissed her knuckles, keeping it close to him.

 

“Whatever’s coming for ya, I’ll get ‘em first.” 

 

Karen pulled her lips in. “I know.” 

 

Then he leaned in and pressed a warm, lingering kiss to her forehead, hand tight on hers. She felt safe for the first time in a long while. She felt  _ loved _ . But that word shot right down into her belly to hide because it had no business being spoken into existence. That word had no place between them. 

 

Karen was the first to pull back, but he didn’t relinquish her hand. She was hardly surprised. 

 

“Stay?” 

 

Her voice was small and shaky, and she could hardly believe she sounded like that in front of the Punisher of all people. But there was a slight curve to his mouth and a lightness around his eyes she’d only seen in photographs from before, so she couldn’t really muster up the energy to care. 

 

“Til you tell me to leave, ma’am.” 

  
  
  



End file.
